


Polaris

by starkotics



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkotics/pseuds/starkotics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It occurs to me that I don't know how many girls Sam has kissed before; I know there was Jamie from Little Rock but was she his first?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polaris

**Author's Note:**

> Stargazing! Handjobs! \o/   
> ps. I love writing from Dean's POV :)

Sam's a kid again.

Sam's a goddamn kid again – and that's his little five-year-old hand tugging on mine when he saw a candy store. Except now, the hand doesn't belong a child: it belongs to my weed of a baby brother, nearly sixteen now and apparently not at all interested in sex.

I guess it doesn't run in the family.

The clearing is only a few dozen feet from where we've parked the Impala, mossy grass dotted with little yellow flowers. It's a little too 'romance novel' for me, but God help me, I'll do anything for the little brat. Cicadas chirp noisily around us in a constant hum. 

Letting go of my hand, Sam settles in the middle of the clearing and tugs the rumpled print-out from his coat pocket. I watch him pull out a pocket flashlight, place it between his teeth, and examine the sheet. I sit next to him.

"There's Ursa Major, look," he says, pointing to the patch of sky right in front of us. "And there's the north star."

"Where's the Big Dipper?" I ask, just trying to yank his chain. He gives a long-suffering sigh, pointing back to where he'd pointed before. "It's there; I told you this already, they're the same-"

"Dude, I know." I chuckle, shoving his shoulder. "You should know by now I do that just to piss you off."

He shoves me back. We're touching from shoulder to knee now. He gives me a sideways smirk and catches my eye; my throat closes up a little.

He points again, drawing a cross in the sky. "That's Aquila – the eagle." I follow his finger, leaning closer. 

I can't count the times I've used this as a line – the girls I pick up at bars are usually tipsy enough to eat up any of the bullshit I spout about the 'constellations' I'm 'pointing out' to them. Everyone knows that move is just an opportunity to lean in nice and close.

Everyone, apparently, except Sam. 

Sam legitimately wants to look at stars.

"Where's Orion?" I ask. Orion has always been my favorite constellation. Call me crazy, but I tend to relate to the guy. 

"He's not in the sky this month." He's already checked on his nerdy little star chart. "But look – there's Pisces."

He could literally go on for hours if I don't stop him. I press my palm to his shoulder and push him towards the ground, saying: "Ok, squirt, this ain't a science lesson I signed up for. This is meant to be a romantic date-"

"It's not a date!" he whines for the millionth time. When Sam'd first suggested this, I teased him about it, not admitting how much I wanted it to be true. 

I simply chuckle, and I wonder if Sam can tell there's no real humor to it. 

There's blissful silence for a few moments, and I watch the dragon-clouds of my breath rise up to the stars. I don't give a damn what the constellations are or what the ancient Greeks may or may not have thought what they meant – I love looking at the stars because I love the way how it makes me feel so insignificant. I'm a tiny speck in the universe. The universe doesn't care about me. I'm not important.

"If it _was_ a date…" Sam begins, and woah, that was out of the blue. I lean up on my elbow to look him in the eye.

"What?"

Sam's face remains mostly calm but he doesn't make eye contact.

"You know. Have you ever…um. Is this…something you do often? With girls?"

"It could be," I say after a short pause. "What's it to you?"

"Just wondering." He continues to just look at the stars. 

Another moment of silence, and I think the topic's been dropped.

"I've just always thought it was kinda romantic, that's all."

I lean up again, putting on my patented Dean Winchester 'I can show you a good time' smirk. "Aw, shucks Sammy, you tryin' to put the moves on me? 'Cause you know…"

Sam puts on his patented 'Why do I hang out with you oh that's right I have to because you're my brother' bitchface. He points a finger at me. "You, shut up." There's a smile on his lips that belies his annoyance as he looks back up at our infinite ceiling. 

I look at him a second longer. He must catch me because he glances from the sky to my face, his forehead wrinkling. 

"What?"

I don't know how it happens, but one second he's sitting up, the next he's less than three inches away from me – eyelashes tinted from the moon, eyes all glassy. They flicker down to my lips for a second, then back up.

"What were you saying?"

I don't answer with words. 

Sammy's lips are soft and generous – languidly accepting my kiss and slowly moving to meld with them. It occurs to me that I don't know how many girls Sam has kissed before; I know there was Jamie from Little Rock but was she his first? 

I wait for the inevitable push, the shove away and the 'What the hell, man?' but it doesn't come. I only feel Sam's tongue pushing past my lips, and hear the tiny bastard of a whimper forming in his throat. 

Our lips break apart, but we don't move away. For a too-long moment, the only sound is the cicadas. I don't dare open my eyes. 

"What was that?" Sammy asks, his breath puffing out onto my damp lips. I should pull away now – as the big brother, I should stop this. 

If I believed in hell, I'd definitely be going there. 

I start to shake my head, but our lips are so close that they brush together as I move and breath leaves my chest like a punch. "I'm sorry, " I whimper, breath-soft. I finally open my eyes.

The pain on Sam's face is something I can't bear – something I've spent my whole life doing my best to eliminate. 

"You're," he finally husks out, his voice thick. "You're sorry."

I wipe away the tear forming at the corner of his eye before it falls, almost without thinking. My hand lingers on his cheek. 

"Yes, I'm sorry, I'm a horrible person and I deserve to die and Jesus, you're my little _brother_ …and you're all _you_ and I'm all _me_ and Dad is going to skin me alive, please Sam if you forgive me even a little you won't tell Dad-"

He shuts me up with another kiss.

We don't really break apart from this one – my hand stiffens on his jaw, pulling him closer. "Sam," I choke out into his mouth. "Sammy, tell me you want this, tell me this is ok…"

His 'yeah' is hardly a surprise as he rolls on top of me, a thigh in between mine. And _Christ,_ Sam's hard. 

Above the constant 'oh my God oh my God oh my _God_ ' running through my head, Sam mumbles against my jaw. "I want this, Dean, want you…been thinking 'bout it for years. " My fingers find their way to weave into his too-long hair. "Always…always been you."

"Christ, Sammy…" He's grinding against my hip now, little stilted circles that are driving me crazy. "Lemme, " I insist, reaching gingerly for his fly. He stutters to a halt, pulse hummingbird-quick where my cheek is pressed against his neck, then, as I reach inside his jeans and wrap my hand around him, he lets out a reed-thin whimper right by my ear.

He's leaking wet already, so slick as he fucks into my hand, and all I want to do is taste it, touch every inch of my baby brother’s body, kiss his lips red raw and make sure he knows that he's only mine.

Sam gets his lips on mine again, kissing fiercely, tongue twining with mine. He smudges a kiss along my jaw again, lips closing around the spot just below my ear that always gets me off like a firework.

"'M close," he whispers in between the little sexy-as-fuck breaths he's panting into my ear, and it's embarrassing how close behind I am. I haven't even had a hand on me, but Sam's thigh's been moving between mine, and it's too much not to thrust my hips up to meet it.

"That's it," I urge him, my fingers digging into his hair to pull him closer, my own voice breathy now. "That's my Sammy, that's my Sam."

He spills over the edge like a dam bursting, my name on his lips. As he trembles, and I still cling onto him like a lifejacket, I can’t help myself and shove my hand into my jeans.

I finally get a hand around myself, using Sam's come to slick the way, and it's shameful how fast I lose it when his hand, still shaking, joins mine and our fingers link.

Fireflies join the glow of the stars as we come down, breaths shallow and our bodies still buzzing. It takes a few blinks for me to be able to see the constellations properly, but the Big Dipper’s right overhead, and I press a kiss into Sam’s hair where he’s limply resting on my shoulder, staring at it the whole time.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, but the moon is completely up once Sam moves. The first thing he does is glance at his hand – the hand he was using to jack me off. It's covered in come. Sam makes a face and wipes it on my shirt.

"Dude!" I scold, "That’s fucking gross!" With a laugh, I remember my hand still has jizz on it, and I relish the horrified look on his face when I run it through his hair.

His eyes spark with mischief. "Oh, I'm so getting you back for this one."

"Help, it's Cameron Diaz!" I taunt as he chases me back to the car. All thought of revenge is forgotten when I pin him up against the driver's side door and kiss him nearly breathless, though he's laughing against my lips.

He's eager – I can feel him starting to get hard again against me (ah, to be fifteen). I lean down to tongue the spot just below his ear, suggesting: "Let's get back to the motel. There's beds there." He nods with a grin.

Driving back with Sam in the passenger seat, I realize, is both everything I've always had and everything I've ever wanted.


End file.
